


Hands

by Fierceawakening



Series: Winter 2015 Megastar Ficlets [1]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 02:52:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3233543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fierceawakening/pseuds/Fierceawakening
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlet for the prompt "Megastar: Hands." Starscream's claws weren't the first thing Megatron noticed about him -- but it didn't take him long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands

Starscream's hands weren't the first thing Megatron noticed.

The first things Megatron noticed about Starscream were bigger: the sweep of his wings, the sway of his hips, the sleek shape of his frame.

But Starscream's hands caught his attention soon enough.

Long, slender fingers curled out from small palms. Claws tipped them, longer than Megatron's own, polished as meticulously as Starscream's wings. Light glittered on the metal, a bright glittering sheen of flame.

Did he take the same care sharpening them?

Megatron was a warrior and a gladiator -- for him, sharp claws were as much a necessity as a sharp mind.

Were they for this lithe little prince?

Megatron had earned his power in the ring. He’d carved it out of the graying, scrapped frames of his opponents in the ring, smeared his frame with more spilled energon than even he cared to remember. Starscream had been built for his rank, designed a Winglord, his wings and plating crafted to fit the design.

And at last, the Allspark had given him the spark of a prince.

If you believed the legends, that is. The same legends that said all mechs were and should be sorted by caste.

Megatron did not believe in those.

But a prince built to rule, secure in the order and shape of his society, with no reason to fear any defiance of that order, wouldn’t need talon-tipped fingers longer than his own head.

Megatron lay awake on his berth, staring up at the ceiling, its light strips black and dormant. He smiled up at the darkness.

Prince or not, built for his crown or not -- those claws, Megatron could understand.

He slid his hand down to his hips, retracted the cover of his spike, curved his own clawed fingers around it.

A mech with claws like that would not lose his throne easily.

Or be easily subdued.

Megatron dimmed his optics and let himself remember the bright blaze of light on Starscream’s claws.

He imagined their bite and began to move.


End file.
